Peppermint Pandemonium: A Cozy Mystery (Sweet Home Mystery Series Book 5) Read online

  The park was named after the governor of Florida during World War One. He set aside a large parcel of land for the Sinking Springs Old Folks Home, as it was called at the time, and the town grew up around it. The retirement village, the park, the fair grounds, and the cemetery are all on the original parcel, along with the high school and City Hall. Actually, the governor’s name was Park Trammell, but “Park Trammell Park” was too odd and confusing for most people, so they just call it Trammell Park.

  The weather was ideal – low 70s during the day and mid 50s overnight. But we had to get our lights strung up around the edge of the shelter and candles on the tables. It was December, after all. The sun would set around 5:30, and it would be dark by 6:00. Sal took the lead on the electrical things while the ladies got the tables and décor ready. Becky Sinclair was busy in the kitchen baking our pies and muffins while also getting the dinner menu ready to go for the diner. Becky was Sal’s employee, but she was a great pastry chef so we were sharing her talents and wages.

  It was amazing to watch a small city spring up all around us, with wooden booths, metal trailers, and canvas tents lined up as far as the eye could see. Bows of holly, festive wreaths and banners, and strings of holiday lights decorated the “Old Lonoriginal don” style three-globe street lamps along the wide and gently curving cobblestone path through the middle of the spontaneous marketplace. And the shops were all decorated with jingle bells, mistletoe, and poinsettias to bring a real feeling of Christmas to the beautiful venue.

  I tried to resist the holiday feeling as long as I could, but when they lit the big tree at the entrance and the Dickensian choir started caroling down the street, I had to give in. The White House in Washington tried to snag our 60-foot tree for Christmas when I was in high school, but Auntie Essie and Mom, rest her soul, gathered over 300 of the townsfolk to sit around the tree and block the cutting crew and truck. I remember how Toe dusted off his guitar and led the group in singing Kumbaya and Micheal Row Your Boat, probably for the first time since the Vietnam War ended. I’m sure glad they saved it.

  Things seemed to be coming together, and I was going down my checklist of final details.

  “Guys, we have to have a place at the end of the counter set aside for walk-up beverage service with easy access to the ice and soft drinks.”

  “I think we’re almost ready to go, Lily,” Hildie said with a smile. “This place has a lot more modern facilities than we have at the Coffee Cabana!”

  She was right about that. The stainless steel kitchen, convection oven, and icemaker made our coffee shop look like a campsite from the Old West.

  “Sounds great, Hildie. Well, we open in 20 minutes. I’ll make more coffee…we’ve just got a couple of airpots filled up, and you and Auntie Essie can sit down for a while. You’ve been busy working and feeding our helpers all day.”

  “Too late. It looks like they’re letting the people trickle in early.”

  “Yikes. You’re right. Gird your loins! We won’t have a breather until the lights go out at midnight. I hope Trevor is doing okay at the Cabana. He’s only 17.”

  “Don’t worry, Lily. Essie and Carmen are keeping in touch, and she’s going to be checking in on Trevor and helping out when she has to.”

  “That’s great, Auntie.”

  Carmen Baumgardner and her husband, Al, ran the bicycle and party rental shop across the street from the Coffee Cabana. She was a trusted friend and occasional employee, as was her 14-year-old daughter Moira, who had a crush on young Trevor. But tonight Moira would be working at her regular part-time job – helping Jules get pictures and stories for the newspaper at the Christmas Markets.

  The smell of the freshly baked pies and muffins was bringing people in.

  “Where’s Essie now, Hildie?”

  She pointed at a circle of mostly high school girls and a few senior ladies toward the back of the shelter. “She’s training the wait staff, telling them how to write down the orders, mark them with the right table numbers…all that kind of stuff. It looks like they’re done now.”

  “Here comes Santa Claus,” Essie said as she joined us behind the counter.

  The jingle bells jangled as he started his walk down the cobblestone path.

  “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!”

  Jolly old Santa had a sack over his shoulder and his arm around Mrs. Santa, with two elves pulling a reindeer behind them. There was another elf with a camera and one with a small stool you might use to milk a cow.

  Two small kids ran up to their favorite person in the world, and the elf set the stool down for Santa to sit. The jolly giant put the young brother and sister on his lap, listened to their list of Christmas wishes, and gave them each a small gift from his bag. Then he posed for a photo with the tots and the whole North Pole Crew. The “Traveling Santa” seemed to work pretty well for the Markets, although they did have a throne and wintery setting for him at the far end of the marketplace that they used during peak times.

  Then Santa got up, took Mrs. Santa in his arms and gave her a smooch on the lips before moving one with another “ho, ho, ho,”

  I was frozen in place. “What in the…Essie, did you see that?”

  “That little kiss? What’s the problem? It was short and sweet…and they are married.”

  “But…but, they aren’t really Mr. and Mrs. Claus, Essie. Eli…”

  “Did I hear someone mention my name?”

  Eli came in from the other side of the pavilion in his tan police uniform. “I hope you’re not taking my name in vain,” he said with his familiar smile.

  A shiver of relief went through my body as I put candy canes in four peppermint mocha lattes and set them on a tray for one of the girls.

  “Oh…hi! I thought you were Santa Claus.”

  “I’ll be in the suit tomorrow afternoon. That’s Bob and Penny Carver tonight.”

  “I guess my mind has just been too focused on getting this place ready; I was thinking that you were doing it all weekend.”

  “Whoa! I don’t mind doing my part for charity, Lily, but the whole weekend with the little ankle biters would put me in a straight jacket for sure! Have you seen Dad? Mildred roped him and Miss Pickles into helping out at her Happy Cat booth not far down the line. I thought he might stop in here.”

  “Nope, I haven’t seen Harvey. What’s she selling anyway? She doesn’t have a shop in town.”

  “Oh, she’s baking up some organic kitty treats, cat nip chew toys, collars – things like that. Miss Pickles is just going to show people how much cats love the treats, I guess. Ah!” Eli pointed to a baldheaded gentleman hurrying into the pavilion. It was Harvey carrying Miss Pickles. “Here he comes now. Hey, Dad…”

  “You gotta help her! Somebody poisoned Miss Pickles, Eli! Get your best detectives on it…and she needs a doctor! She’s on her last legs…she hasn’t got much time!”

  Eli took the lethargic cat and looked at her closely. I took a step back, as Miss Pickles only had claws and fangs for any female…but she looked so sickly and pathetic. I cautiously extended my hand and petted her on the head. This was the first time in my life I was able to touch her. I looked at Eli.

  “This is serious, Eli. Miss Pickles has never been this docile around a woman.”

  Her right paw trembled slightly, and I actually took her from Eli and held her in my arms. Gertie Price, Harvey’s neighbor, was volunteering as a server and took over for me behind the counter when she saw me holding the very ill lady-killer.

  “Well, she’s an old cat. Maybe it’s a touch of the flu,” Eli conjectured, quite calmly. “Or maybe she’s just exhausted from being outside. I mean, she’s always been a house cat. Or it could be that she’s allergic to something in the air. My guess is that she just has a good old-fashioned tummy ache.”

  Harvey’s mood took on a slow burn. “Eli, this cat has been my constant companion for nearly 15 years. I know when she’s got intestinal problems or a bellyache. This is something very different. She’s been poison
ed, I tell you! That’s a crime, and you have to find out who did it! That’s your job.”

  “Dad, the department can’t be paying for tox screens and CAT scans to try to identify a trace of poison in your cat. She just has a 24-hour bug or some kind of allergy.”

  “Doggone it, Eli, I just brought her to the vet yesterday with that coupon you gave me, and she was healthy as a horse. I got her on Dr. Dawson’s healthy cat food diet, and she’s been purring like a kitten ever since.”

  “Maybe she prefers table scraps and leftover macaroni and cheese mixed in with her canned food. That’s the kind of stuff she’s used to, Dad.”

  Harvey was not happy with his son at all.

  “I know the symptoms of poison when I see it, son – ever since I mistook the rat poison for little blue jelly beans when you were a little kid. And this is exactly the way poison makes you feel. There’s a killer on the loose! Just look at my Miss Pickles!”

  Harvey was on the verge of tears and turned his back to us. But he was getting no sympathy from Eli. My guy just gave me a wry smile with a shrug and a shake of his head. He wasn’t buying the imminent doom of the situation. I returned a look of confusion and disbelief.

  “Eli…”

  “I gotta make my rounds. I’ll try to stop in every hour. Dad…” He put his hand on Harvey’s shoulder. “…she’s going to be okay in the morning.”

  I cradled the sickly cat in one arm and helped Harvey into a chair.

  “Do you have a card from the doctor’s office, Harvey?”

  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the card he picked up at Dr. Dawson’s pet clinic the previous day. Gertie brought Harvey a cup of coffee and a chocolate chip muffin while I dialed the doctor’s cell number. She answered right away.

  “Tell her to hurry, Lily…” A tear streamed down old Harvey’s unshaven cheek as he took a sip of his coffee.

  It turned out that she had a booth here at the Christmas Markets promoting her clinic and her cat kibble. Two minutes later, the blonde ponytail of her assistant, Cora Applegate, bounced into our pavilion. Cora was an adorable and fit lady who looked closer to 50 than 60. She stood barely five feet tall, and a pair of red-rimmed glasses sat atop her button nose. She had a pleasant and compassionate smile as she comforted Harvey, assuring him that his life partner would be just fine.

  “Let’s take her into the clinic, Mr. Davis,” she said very sweetly. “We’ll get your best girl back in shape in no time. Okay?”

  Harvey nodded gingerly. Then she took Miss Pickles from me and walked Harvey to the parking lot with her arm around his waist. Hildie looked on with a sour expression.

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  Chapter Three

  “What in the world…?”

  Eli and I were taking advantage of the mid morning lull at the “Cabana East” (as Toe Thompson started calling our Christmas Market pavilion) to walk through the shops before he had to take on the role of Santa after lunch.

  “Looks like some criminal mischief here, Lily.”

  Nearly a dozen shopkeepers in one section of the wide cobblestone walkway were scrubbing off graffiti or painting over it, patching slits cut into their canvas booths, and straightening up tables and displays that had been disturbed and vandalized over night. Even one of the high-end food trucks that rolled in for the event had fallen victim to the “criminal mischief.” Aldo’s Pronto Pup truck was sprayed with red paint, but just on the windows. The beautiful logo and lettering had been left untouched.

  “It looks like the Angel of Death came through here, randomly ravaging some places and leaving others untouched.”

  “That’s actually a pretty good observation, Lily. If we can find a thread that connects all of the places that were hit or all of the ones that were passed over, it might give us a clue to the motive.”

  Huh. That’s right: I’m a regular Sherlock Holmes.

  We stepped to the side as the group of carolers came by singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. They were dressed in authentic Victorian era London attire, and their harmonies were wonderful. One very pretty young woman wore a long red velvet dress trimmed in black, and a broad white bonnet framed her fair face. Another older woman, probably her mother, wore a long calico print, a white shawl, and a festive hat with a long feather.

  The two men – one of them quite old – wore long grey coats and top hats, and the half-dozen children had on shorts and skirts that made them all look like they walked straight out of a Dickens’ novel. The women and girls all had the same blonde hair with a hint of ginger, and the men and boys all had black hair and ivory skin. I’m sure they were two or three generations of the same family.

  “Come to our shop, The Bee’s Knees, and buy some fresh honey from our hives, hand-made bonnets, and walking sticks carved by real artisans!” cried one pretty green-eyed teenaged caroler in a violet dress, while a little boy carried a tin cup for tips. He had the perfect puppy dog eyes for the job, and I quickly found a dollar to donate. It was nice to have an oasis of festive song in the midst of this terrible turmoil.

  Some of Eli’s fellow officers were already on the scene. I saw the sign for the Bee’s Knees across from the place the officers seemed to be investigating. A redheaded boy about 15 or 16 was standing in front of it, looking a little shell-shocked.

  “Come inside, Daniel,” a serious looking middle-aged man with black hair ordered from the door of the shop.

  Officer Karen Crenshaw walked toward Eli after she finished interviewing one of the shopkeepers.

  “What have you found out, Karen?”

  “It was just called in an hour ago when most of the proprietors began to arrive. The little shop selling sunglasses and umbrellas was hit the worst. Most of their inventory was actually destroyed, so they’ll be out of business for a while, and Dale and Samantha aren’t sure if they dare open back up again next weekend. Their insurance company is telling them that the goods weren’t in a secure location because it was a canvas tent, even though they had everything locked up in glass cases.”

  Eli shook his head. “That’s not right. Do I need to get in uniform and come in?”

  “And leave all the kiddies without their Santa Claus? No way. I would have called you in if it was urgent enough, Eli.”

  “Well, don’t leave the town unprotected, Karen.”

  “We’ve got three here – Angelo came in on OT – and we’ve got Justin and Amy in town, so we’re good.”

  “Yeah, if they don’t spend the whole day necking in the cemetery.”

  Really? Justin’s married to a friend of mine.

  “Oh…I didn’t know they had something going on.”

  “So, what’s your take on this mess? Who are we looking for?”

  “Looks like older kids, but that might be designed to throw us off. Some of the damage looks like it was intentionally aimed at a specific target with malicious intent. A lot of the graffiti and incidental damage might just be to cover up the true motive and the intended victim or victims.”

  “Good work, Karen. Everyone who wasn’t hit is a suspect, and anyone with just a little damage is too. Do we need CSI?”

  “Jack and Alison are coming in from Sabina to do a once-over on the Come Rain or Come Shine booth, and I think O’Leary’s got another place that might need a look-see. I don’t think we need to tape off the vendors with just graffiti and external vandalism, though. They wait all year to make a few extra bucks here.”

  It took a little convincing to get Eli to agree to walk away from the crime scene, but we didn’t get far. Right next to the destroyed sunglass and umbrella shop we saw the sign for Mildred’s Happy Cat shop.

  “Hey, this is where Dad and his cat were yesterday before they rushed over to the Cabana East.”

  The nickname seemed to be catching on. “So how is Miss Pickles doing anyway, Eli?”

  “Oh, she’ll be fine…I
hope. The tech that brought them to the clinic gave her a little shot of something, and she seemed to perk up quite a bit, Dad said.”

  “Does he have to take her back to the vet again?”

  “Yeah – mid-week. Actually, she’s going to stop in at his place. I wonder why Mildred isn’t open yet. I’d kind of like to see if there’s anything here that could have gotten Miss Pickles sick.”

  “I thought you said it was tummy flu and not worthy of an investigation, Officer Davis…”

  “Well…” Eli was twisting in the wind, trying to come up with a good response. “…it isn’t police business, and I’m off duty now, so it would just be as a favor to Dad. Besides, the little fur ball is kind of my stepmother, I guess.”

  We got a pretty good laugh over that and decided to move on down the line. This shebang had really expanded over the years. We passed shops selling tie-dyed T-shirts and dresses, jewelry, paintings, and crafts. There was a temporary tattoo parlor, homemade fudge in hand-painted tins for holiday gifts…and even a palm reader.

  “Oh, Eli, let’s stop here and get our palms read. My treat!”

  He obviously wasn’t crazy about the idea, but he was adapting reasonably well to boyfriend training and domestication. He smiled and we sat in the two chairs across the table from a very young Gypsy woman – or, at least she was dressed in the traditional gypsy garb and headscarf.

  “Are all Gypsy palm readers named Esmeralda?” Eli asked, looking at the sign reading Lady Esmeralda hanging behind her.

  The girl smiled and raised her head, flashing her hypnotic green eyes at us. “All the good ones,” she said. “And yes…it’s my real name.”

  She had an indistinguishable accent, gorgeous bone-white flesh, and nicely curled strawberry blonde hair hanging nearly to her waist.